Some thoughts

1. Don't you hate it when, after contorting your body into all SORTS of interesting positions, after applying three coats (base coat, first coat, and second coat because we all know how much difference a second coat can make), after waiting hours for it to dry lest your toes stick to your bed sheets, you realize why that polish was relegated to the back of the bathroom cupboard?  Indoors, this red is okay.  In direct sunlight, it's god awful.  I'm too embarrassed to even take a picture to PROVE how awful it is. 

2. And don't you hate it when, even though it's so bad you can't stand looking at your own feet, you know you won't change said god awful polish because of all the body contorting and multiple coats and bed sheet sticking avoidance?  Yeah, being lazy is its own reward.

3. We tidied around the house yesterday, with me focusing on the mountain of clothing on the dresser (it was so bad, I found three shirts I assumed were in the laundry -- nope: clean, just hidden, you slob!).  After I unearthed the surface of the dresser, Chebbar found my degree that had been sitting there for months.  First he asked innocently enough how the heck you'd even hang something like that (pointing to the hanger on the back of the frame).  When he "casually" asked where I would put it if I were to hang it on the wall, I knew he what he was up to, so I replied with "No where.  It doesn't need to be hung up."  He rolled his eyes at me and left the room, only to return with the hammer and a nail.  Seeing the error of my ways when he went for the wall by the door, I hurriedly told him to hang it in the office!  Hang it in the office!

BANGBANGBANG

Too late.  I'm going to have to take a picture of THAT, simply for placement shits 'n giggles

The sentiment behind it was sweet (he silenced my protestations of "took too long to finish" and "not doing anything with it" by telling me that I should be proud of the accomplishment itself), but all I can do is shudder at the asymmetry of its placement.  It's enough to do my OCD head in, I swear.

4. I wore a pair of Chebbar's shorts when we ran errands yesterday.  Granted, on me they fall below my knee, but I digress.  I don't know whether to be jazzed that I have another pair of summer bottoms, or spaz that I fit his drawers (although, to be fair, I know he's not exactly impressed that they're too small for him now, too).

5. I have a Diva Cup.  I bought it MONTHS ago (seriously -- last year sometime).  It is still sitting in its box underneath the bathroom sink. 

In theory, I love the idea: environmentally friendly, no more waste, no more bleached cotton stuffed up the hooha, $$$ savings, etc.  That being said, I'm a little, erm, squeamish with the whole, ah, "application."  It's not even the insertion that squicks me out; it's the whole mind-fuck of how you remove and empty it -- I can't imagine doing that without getting, uh, messy.  Plus, I don't know that I'd know my cervix if I met it on the street, so placement could be just a tad on the tricky side.

However, I promised myself that I'd give it a shot once I was low on tampons.  I have one box left in the closet.  I have two, maybe three more months to screw up the courage to stick that thing where the sun don't shine.  For added incentive, Mr. Memory Like an Elephant (aka Mr. You're Not Gonna Liiiiiiike Thaaaaat!!!! or Mr. You're Not Gonna Uuuuuuuse Thaaaaat!!!!) has "innocently" asked if that was my cup-thingy a number of times.  He pays attention, dammit!


Okay.  That is all.